


Erestor's Revenge

by NirCele



Series: Revenge [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, and flips the board, and he yells, and then in his sword scabbard, arm-wrestling competition, chess night, drinking competition, erestor and glorfindel get drunk, erestor has to drag him to his room, erestor hasn't gotten revenge yet, erestor loses of course, erestor smiles, erestor's revenge comes when he sees something in glorfindel's room, glorfindel is actually good at chess, glorfindel passes out, glorfindel wakes up and finds the revenge in his shoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 14:55:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3294578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NirCele/pseuds/NirCele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The continuation of The Revenge Starts, but can stand by itself. Erestor's pride has been injured, and it's up to him to make Glorfindel pay for the insult. A chess match, arm-wrestling, and a drinking game commences. One-shot (kind of), humor, no slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Erestor's Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of the first part of my series, The Revenge Starts. Read that and this will make more sense, but you don't have to.

"You're late."  
Glorfindel paused right inside the door of the library. He glanced over at the one who had spoken to him, smiling lightly. "I am?"  
"Yes." Erestor didn't look up from the chessboard he was putting up next to the fireplace.  
"Ah, it was just ten minutes. I was waylaid by two elflings who wanted me to tuck them in - after their mother and father had already done it." Glorfindel tossed his cloak at the nearest bookshelf and winced when the heavy fabric landed wrong, knocking a few large books off. He looked over at Erester to see if he had noticed.  
He had. "Pick it up, please."  
Glorfindel sighed and shook his head, walking over to scoop up the three books that had fallen and placing them back the shelf. Fixing his cloak to let it drape over the shelf, he then turned and walked over to the table where Erestor was. It was a few yards in front of a huge hearth in the library, fire flickering on the logs, with two comfortable chairs and a round table. A chessboard was on the table, with two empty glasses beside it. Erestor was placing the pieces on the board, making sure every single one was in the right place. He was seated in one of the chairs.  
"Did you bring the wine?" asked Erestor.  
"Of course I did. I always do." Glorfindel plopped down in the seat opposite Erestor and pulled out a large bottle from inside his over-tunic.  
"You forgot last week." The adviser frowned at the board, shifting one piece.  
"That was one time. Perfectionist," muttered Glorfindel.  
"Barbarian," was the retort.  
Neither of them said it with any spite in their voice. It was just what they would do here. This night was a custom now. Every third night - unless one was otherwise occupied - Erestor and Glorfindel would meet in the library to have a chess match and share a bottle of wine after most occupants of Imladris had gone to bed. Elrond approved, but never joined them, since Erestor would stay up late every night, working on paperwork and reports, and he needed something to "socialize" as the Elf lord put it. As the Balrog-slayer and Chief Counsellor were practically at each other’s' throats during the day, they needed some time to be polite and have a nice discussion.  
Quite frankly, Erestor didn't mind, though everyone thought he just did it to humor Lord Elrond. Erestor thought his conversations with the Elda were stimulating; everything else was simply boring. Everything had an order, a perfect way of doing it, but Glorfindel . . . he was confusing. When Erestor first met him, he thought that Glorfindel would be easy to figure out, and he could compile him under 'just another of the warriors.' But he was different somehow, not just the hack-and-slash type Erestor was used to putting up with. There were hidden depths to him, and the adviser was determined to discover them. Therefore . . . chess night.  
Erestor wasn't going to forget what had happened yesterday, though. That huge demon spider . . . Glorfindel didn't make it leave. He stood there and did nothing! He was going to regret that dearly.  
But not right now. Right now Erestor was going to crush him in chess - as he usually did.  
"Dark or white?" Glorfindel asked, uncorking his bottle and pouring a generous amount in one glass.  
"It's black." With a satisfied smile, Erestor slid the last piece into place.  
Glorfindel's face was incredulous. "What? Come on, 'Restor, black is a dark color. It's the same thing!"  
"No, it's not." Erestor reached across the table, careful not to knock over any chess pieces, and grabbed the wine bottle from Glorfindel. "And don't call me 'Restor, or I'll start calling you 'Glorfy.'"  
Glorfindel decided not to pursue the subject of names, but instead caught the bottle opening just as Erestor was about to pour it into his glass. "Ah, ah. This is Elrond's special wine. It's very potent; you know you don't hold your liquor well."  
Erestor scowled at the Balrog-slayer. "You can't stop me. Remove your hand."  
"Fine!" Glorfindel rolled his eyes and let Erestor fill the glass, then replace the cork, setting the bottle aside for future use.  
"I'll take black; you're going to lose anyway," Erestor declared, spinning the chess board so the white pieces were on Glorfindel's side.  
"I might not lose!" exclaimed Glorfindel.  
Erestor looked up from his examination of the game to fix him with an impassive look. "You've lost almost every time we played, and the few times you did win, it was because I was drunk."  
Glorfindel considered that for a moment, nodded and scooped up the wine bottle, then poured even more into Erestor's glass. "Very well, drink up!"  
"Your move," said the adviser, ignoring him. Glorfindel stared at the board for a moment, then scooted a pawn forward.  
"Good start," Erestor approved. His move was swift, a knight leaping over a pawn to land in front of all of his other pieces. He tried never to start out the same way, since a strategy could be dissected and figured out. He didn't know if Glorfindel could do that, but it wasn't worth finding out.  
Glorfindel hummed something and jumped another pawn. About ten moves later, as usual, Glorfindel lost most of his interest in the game and propped his chin on his hands, studying Erestor.  
"You're not going to try and start a discussion, are you?" queried the adviser, studying the board. Glorfindel had unwittingly - or maybe not - trapped his queen in a row of pawns. He needed to get her out.  
"Of course!" Glorfindel exclaimed, a grin breaking across his face. "Don't tell me you can't think about two things at once?"  
"Fine." Erestor picked up his queen and set her on the other side of the board in a legal move. He mimicked Glorfindel's gesture, propping his chin up with one hand. "Well, what do you want to talk about?"  
Glorfindel absentmindedly scanned the board as he talked. "Well, I was thinking we could both ask each other a question and we had to answer."  
"Just one?" Erestor sounded disappointed; he scooped up the wine glass and sipped it.  
"Why?"  
"I wanted to ask about some of the people you knew in Gondolin."  
Glorfindel frowned, an uncommon sight on his face. "Okay, past lives are out of the discussion."  
"That's not fair!" protested Erestor. "I've only lived once!"  
Glorfindel reached across the table and patted the adviser's dark hair. "That's all right, you'll be fine.”  
Erestor batted the hand away and scowled at him. "Are you going to go or not?"  
"Hm? Oh." Glorfindel pushed a pawn forward without even looking at it. Erestor fumed inwardly. How in the world had this infuriating Elda known just the move that would keep both of his bishops from moving to claim check and mate?  
"I'll go first!" proclaimed Glorfindel, leaning back in his seat while Erestor frantically studied for a way to get out of this trap, surveying the position of each piece. "Is that okay?"  
When no answer came from the Chief Counsellor, Glorfindel nodded and took a gulp out of his own glass. "Well, here's my question. Have you ever been anything other than a studious, perfectionist adviser?" He leaned forward, eyes going wide in mock horror. "Were you even a child once?"  
"Of course I was, silly," said Erestor, finally deciding to forsake his bishops and move his king to safety behind a wall of pawns and knights. He continued examining the board as he answered Glorfindel's first question. "Yes, I was once something other than a 'perfectionist adviser.'"  
Glorfindel eagerly waited for more, but Erestor was done talking. "Now that's not fair!" the Elda complained. "You can't just leave me hanging like that!"  
"You only asked if I have been anything other, and I said yes. If you want more, ask Elrond."  
"Elrond," muttered Glorfindel. "He never gives out information about his advisers. Or anyone else, for that matter."  
"Fine, ask Celebrían."  
"Do you even know how hard it is to get a straight answer from her? She takes after her mother too much in that respect, I think."  
"Are we gossiping or asking each other a question?" said Erestor sharply. He wasn't one for idle conversation unless it would gain Imladris something - like when he just had to be polite to some delegate from King Thranduil, or an envoy hailing from Lothlórien.  
"Ugh," Glorfindel grumbled. "Fine, ask your question." He pushed his own queen forward as if an afterthought. Erestor analyzed the move, then looked up, his chocolate brown eyes cunning and cool. His suspicious that had been accumulating over the past few months were just confirmed.  
"Very well, I have a question. Are you ever going to actually play chess or will you just keep making ridiculous moves forever?"  
"What kind of question is that?"  
"You know perfectly well how to play chess," Erestor said, his dark eyebrows drawing together. "But for some reason, you don't and instead let me win every time. Why?"  
"Now what would make you think that?" asked Glorfindel innocently, leaning back in his seat again.  
"Please, I've played with you for years now, almost twice a week. I'm not stupid. I've been comparing your moves, your lack of attention to the board, your brief glances to make sure I'm winning - you know very well the piece you just shifted," he jabbed a finger at his opponent's queen, "is going to get wiped out in the next five turns, and you did it anyway."  
"Now -” Glorfindel started, but Erestor cut him off.  
"You're not a stupid warrior - you weren't made the Captain of the Guard just because you slew a Balrog and you're famous." Erestor hmphed and crossed his arms. "You're a master strategist, so why should you not be able to win a simple game?"  
Glorfindel stared at him for a long moment, then grinned widely. "Ah, well, you figured me out!" He moved so swiftly, Erestor couldn't stop him, and in one quick move, swept the whole chessboard off the round table and onto the floor. The pieces clattered together on the carpet. Erestor gaped at the Elda for a moment, finding it hard to believe that he had just . . . wrecked the game! "What was that for?”  
"I forfeit the game!" announced Glorfindel brightly, plopping his elbows on the table and smirking. "You win."  
"This is absolutely -” Erestor muttered, but stopped himself. He scowled down at the scattered chess pieces and board. "Well, you've ruined the game, what are we supposed to do now?"  
"Just a moment." Glorfindel scooted off his chair and picked up the chess board, setting it to the side and stacking the pieces to the game back on top. His golden hair spilled over his shoulders, glimmering in the firelight, and he brushed it back with an irritated look, then slid back into his seat. “We may continue.”  
“Continue with what? You messed up the board.” Erestor frowned when he noticed that his wine glass was empty. He refilled it quickly.  
Glorfindel pretended to ponder that. “I do have one suggestion . . .”  
“Anything is better than this inane chatter,” claimed Erestor.  
“Okay, you asked for it . . .” Glorfindel shrugged and propped his right elbow on the table and reached forward. Erestor stared at his arm with confusion.  
“What’s that all about?”  
“It’s a test of strength,” Glorfindel explained. “You’ll hold arms like so,” he grabbed Erestor’s right hand and wrapped the slender fingers around his own, “and push in opposite directions. Whoever forces the other’s hand to the table first wins the game.”  
“I know what arm-wrestling is, Glorfindel.” Erestor tugged on the firm grip and tried to disentangle his hand, but the Elda held firm. “This is a ridiculous warrior’s game. I do not wish to play.”  
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of being beat!” the Balrog-slayer exclaimed in mock-horror.  
A fierce frown crossed Erestor’s face. “Of course not.” He was insulted by the very mention that he would be scared of something.  
“I thought so.” Smirking, Glorfindel maintained his hold. “Now push down as hard as you can, and keep me from hitting your hand against the table.”  
The adviser muttered something low under his breath.  
“Ready?” Glorfindel didn’t wait for an answer. “Go!” He let his arm remain where it was, and Erestor didn’t do anything.  
Nothing happened.  
Glorfindel waited. And waited. After about ten seconds – which was a considerable amount of time for a warrior to patiently sit – Glorfindel raised his eyebrows at the stubborn Chief Counsellor. “Are you even going to try?”  
"You’re not,” was the retort.  
Glorfindel shrugged and flexed the muscles in his biceps, pushing Erestor’s arm halfway to the surface of the table. An expression of concentration crossed Erestor’s face and he shoved back with all his strength.  
Glorfindel stopped moving his arm and grinned as Erestor tried mightily to get his hand back into an upright position. “You know, your elbow isn’t supposed to leave the table.”  
“I know that,” Erestor grunted. The long black sleeves of his robe were falling down his forearms with his effort. He pushed and shoved, then finally grabbed their clasped fists with his left hand and tugged to the other side.  
Glorfindel couldn’t hold back a chuckle, but refrained from saying anything when Erestor stood up and used his whole weight to try and pull his arm to the side. It remained stubbornly sideways, going neither forward nor backwards.  
Erestor finally sank back into his seat with an exasperated huff, but he couldn’t get his hand released from Glorfindel’s strong grip. “You aren’t even trying,” he accused.  
Glorfindel laughed. “Do you want me to?”  
"This is just prolonging the game,” Erestor complained. “I never should have agreed to this.”  
“Well, you beat me in chess, I might as well win at this.” Glorfindel smirked and with a deft flick of his wrist, slammed Erestor’s hand into the table. The adviser winced and yanked his arm away, massaging his sore fingers. “Well, you win. Good job.”  
“Thank you.” Glorfindel wiped away nonexistent sweat and downed his wine. At the sight of the potent drink, Erestor’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but with a calculating glint in them.  
“Glorfindel, since I ‘beat’ you in the strategy game, and you won at the strength game,” unable to contain himself, he rolled his eyes, “how would you like to test who can drink the most wine?”  
The Elda’s face creased with a grin. He knew of Erestor’s terrible ability to hold his liquor; this would be an easy win. “Oh, you’re on.”  
"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""  
"Never underest . . . " Erestor trailed off as he tried to scold Glorfindel, who was slumped unconscious by the fireplace. Blond locks poured over his shoulders and lay around him in a puddle of gold, gleaming in the light from the fire. His mouth was slightly open, and even though elves didn't - couldn't - snore, Erestor could swear he heard a slight rumbling come from the Balrog-slayer. The adviser frowned as he tried to pronounce the long word. "Under-ester-mate. Raich." Erestor fumbled for the wine bottle, but it was long empty, and had been joined an hour ago by more bottles that Glorfindel had 'borrowed' from Elrond's stock hidden behind some books in this very library. Actually, all of the wine was gone - the two had managed to consume almost a dozen bottles of the potent stuff - and the effects were showing. He was half-sitting, half-lying next to Glorfindel, his head propped up on a bundle of furs.

"Never," Erestor tried again, giving up on finding more wine, "undereshtimate your oppony." Dark eyebrows creased. He was sure that wasn't how the word was pronounced. "Oppony? Opponin?" His eyes, though blurry from the wine, lit up. "Ah, opponent! Never ever undereshtimate your opponent!" He chuckled and let his head fall back. After a minute or two, in which Erestor's eyes kept going unfocused, he grunted loudly as he sat up.  
"Hate wine," the adviser mumbled. "Dulls the senses and -” when he tried to stand, his legs buckled under him "- and it knocks you down." With another annoyed grunt, he managed to climb to his feet with the help of both chairs, and the table. "Ah-ha. There we go. Can't fall asleep in the library. Must go to . . .” he yawned, "um, bed." His gaze fell on the sleeping Glorfindel. "Oh, I need to take him to his chambers, don't I?"  
Erestor made it to Glorfindel, sighing long-sufferingly, and dropped to his knees next to the Captain. "Aiya. Wake up." He shook his shoulders, and Glorfindel did nothing but let out a snort and try to roll over.  
"No, no!" Erestor somehow stopped the large Balrog-slayer from turning, and hooked his elbows under Glorfindel's arm. Standing to his feet with a grunt, Erestor scrabbled backwards, dragging the unconscious Glorfindel with him. He pulled him past the table, rows of large bookshelves, the front desk where elves would check out their books, and made it to the door to the hall before dropping him.  
"You're heavy," Erestor stated, letting Glorfindel hit the floor with a dull thud. The adviser grumbled something else as he fetched the Elda's cloak from a bookshelf and dropped it on Glorfindel's broad chest.

Fortunately for Erestor, Glorfindel's chambers were close to the Main Library, which was where they met every night. Not for ease of access to the books, of course, but simply because the weapons hall was on the other side of the library. Also quite fortunate for the Chief Counsellor, no one was awake at this time of night. It had to be almost twelve o'clock, so there were no elves out and about. If there were, however, they would have been presented with a most amusing sight. A petite elf, with dark hair spilling over his shoulders and down to his waist, dark brown eyes grumpy, pulled the famed Balrog-slayer and Captain of the Guard through the halls of the Last Homely House. Both were quite obviously drunk.  
Erestor was struggling greatly. Even though elves were nimble creatures, their natural light-feet came from the fact that they could balance so well. And were conscious. However, this certain golden-haired warrior was very much unconscious, his head tilted back and legs dragging in front of him as Erestor lugged him all the way to his room.  
When Glorfindel was finally splayed on his bed - it had proven an interesting challenge to even get him up there - Erestor let out a huge sigh of relief. "That's done, then." His shoulders slumped with weariness, he started for the door to leave, but suddenly a most terrible glint came in his eyes, and he straightened, grinning.  
Oh, Glorfindel would leave him at the mercy of a spider, now would he? (Erestor still hadn't forgotten about the arachnid yesterday; he still had some wits about him when drunk). That would not do, oh no. A malicious grin came over his face, and even Lord Elrond would have shuddered upon seeing it.  
A plan had sprang into place - a simple, but effective one - and Erestor immediately set to work. It took him a while, since he had to search through the fairly messy room that was Glorfindel's for a pair of boots that the Elda would wear to his early morning exercise, and then had to go out in the gardens while it was almost completely dark to search for the second part of his plan. Spiders? Of course not. Erestor wouldn't even look at the foul things, much less touch them, but it was time Glorfindel learned his lesson.  
And he was the one to teach it.  
"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""  
Glorfindel woke with a groan. He could faintly remember the events of last night, but it involved something to do with chess pieces flying through the air, a drinking contest, and arm-wrestling. The after-taste of wine still lingered bitterly on his tongue. He wished he could recall who won the drinking contest - he had a terrible feeling it wasn't him, since he was obviously in his room.  
With a grunt that sounded far too loud even for his own ears, Glorfindel lifted his face from the pillow and looked blearily around. The blankets had hardly been disturbed; he must have dropped off right away instead of rolling around to get comfortable like he usually did. When the Elda looked down, he realized his clothes were still on, but his feet were bare. Glancing over, he saw his cloak folded carefully on one chair and his boots nestled next to it. Only one elf would so perfectly place an article of clothing and shoes like that.  
"Erestor beat me?" Glorfindel asked himself disbelievingly. How could this have happened? Everyone knew that the Chief Counsellor was very easy to get drunk . . . he had to admit, though, it was just gossip. He’d never seen the usually composed adviser drink more than one glass of wine.  
“I hate the morning after a drinking spree,” Glorfindel grumbled. He let his head fall back face-first to the fluffy pillow he was on and lay there for a while longer. A few minutes later, he finally decided it probably wasn’t a good idea to laze around in bed much longer. Celebrían tended to worry if everyone wasn’t present at the dining hall in the morning and would most certainly send someone to check on him. And – oh, Valar, how could he have forgotten? He had a new group of fresh recruits to start teaching swordsmanship. This was going to be an interesting morning.  
Managing to drag himself out of bed, Glorfindel chose the most comfortable clothing from his wardrobe and slung them on somewhat carelessly. He fitted his belt and scabbard to his side – he never left his sword lying around somewhere in his room, since two mischievous dark-haired elflings liked to run around and mess with everything in sight. His waist-length hair he put in a simple braid, the golden tendrils of the end brushing his hips as he padded bare-footed over to the chair where his shoes and cloak lay.  
The cloak was swung quickly over his shoulders – but with a wince as sore muscles protested (Manwё, what had he done last night) – and secured with a leafy clasp. He plopped the boots on the floor and seated himself on the chair they had been on.  
As he had done this every morning for the past hundred years or so, it was a familiar rhythm. Clothes, weapons, cloak, and then boots. It was as it had always been, and probably would be like that until something or someone altered it. Well, at least his shoes were here and not scattered off somewhere he would have to search a while to find them, which is was he usually had to do.  
With a quick motion, Glorfindel tugged his right boot on and laced it up, fingers working quickly. He had almost gotten the left shoe on also before he became aware of something cold and wet and . . . slimy oozing onto his right foot. From the shoe! With a dwarfish curse that would have made an elleth blush furiously, he yanked the offending shoe off and hurtled it across the room.  
Glorfindel shuddered and glared after the shoe, finally glancing down at his foot. Black and grey slime covered his appendage, small bits of mud dotting the mixture. A mix of fascination and disgust filled the Elda as he leaned closer to see what in Arda it was. The disgusting stuff reminded him of one thing . . . but missing an important part. It was the mucus that slugs and snails would leave behind when they slithered across something.  
He couldn’t hold back a shiver at the thought. Had there been one of those creatures in his boot? His room couldn’t be that nasty, now could it? To reassure himself, Glorfindel glanced around his bedchambers. They really weren’t that bad, just a few knick-knacks scattered haphazardly on shelves, some parchment crumpled in the corner – that came from a particularly hard day to write a report – a few piles of clothes he had been meaning to get cleaned, and potted plants lining the windowsills. No, a slimy animal hadn’t come from here. Another quick look at his foot calmed Glorfindel when he realized that it was just the slime; he hadn’t killed a poor animal. He checked the left shoe too, and found a pile of mucus waiting in there too.  
Wait. Glorfindel’s head came up sharply as he remembered something. Quite a few things, in fact. Pieces clicked into place, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Oh no, this wasn’t just a happenstance. This was done purposely. Only one name came to his mind, one that belonged to a certain dark-haired Chief Counsellor.  
Erestor.  
"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""  
Erestor was quite happy as he stacked piles of books and dusty manuscripts in one of the smaller Libraries in the Last Homely House. Life was wonderful right now; he was surrounded by organized and . . . well, perfect shelves of sweet-smelling books. And he was returning the volumes he had borrowed to their proper places. What could be better?  
In fact, Erestor was so contented that he hummed a small song under his breath, a quirky melody that Lindir had played a week or two ago in the Hall of Fire. He slid two books onto a shelf and made sure the sides were even with the neighboring tomes, then returned to his pile on a small table.  
But as was wont to happen, he was interrupted by the patter of two pair of small feet, and the soft tread of larger feet. Elladan and Elrohir burst around the corner of a bookshelf, their little faces lighting up when they caught sight of him. For the life of him, Erestor could never figure out why they were so delighted to see him every day. He knew he was stern enough to put off most of the other occupants of Imladris, but the twin elflings didn’t even seem to notice his firm demeanor.  
“’Restor!” shrieked one, lunging forward and trying to hug a leg through the adviser’s long black robes, and failed, as usual. Silver beads danced as Elladan looked up, beaming, at his tutor. “We is so happy today!”  
“We are happy,” corrected Erestor before he could stop himself.  
“Yes!” shrieked Elladan’s identical brother. “You is happy too! Wonderfulness!” His tiny hands grasped fistfuls of Erestor’s robe.  
They were so cheerful in the morning, Erestor thought. Oh well, join the party. His reasons were probably different than theirs, but it didn’t matter. Just then, the Lady of Imladris came around the corner.  
Celebrían’s silver eyes danced with quiet mirth as she caught sight of her twin sons gripping the Chief Counsellor’s legs. She nodded at Erestor, blond hair fluttering loose. “Good morning, Erestor.”  
“Morning, my Lady,” he replied, and went to work detaching Elrohir from him. Succeeding, he scooped up the younger twin and handed him off to Celebrían, who smiled as she took him.  
“Ah, my little knight,” she said, quirking his nose lightly. “Are you ready for the morning meal?”  
“Yes!” he exclaimed loudly. Elladan flung himself loose from Erestor and darted toward his mother.  
“I’m eating too!” He put up both arms, begging silently to be picked up, and with a chuckle, Celebrían complied. She turned to go, but cast Erestor a stern look right before she left. “I expect to see you in the dining hall soon,” she said.  
He just smiled. “If I have time,” was all he told her.  
With another nod, she left. Erestor constantly skipped the morning meal, usually claiming it was because of things he had to accomplish, or that he had forgotten. She had to remind him to join them almost every morning, and sometimes at the eve meal too. Ah, the life of a Peredhel’s wife.  
Celebrían chuckled at that thought and continued down the hall.  
Back in the library, Erestor had almost finished putting all of his borrowed books back when he sensed a figure standing in the doorway, leaning casually on the frame. The adviser slid in the last volume and made sure everything was in its proper place before turning to confront the person. “Glorfindel.”  
“Erestor,” came the rejoinder. The Balrog-slayer straightened up and moved forward like a dangerous golden cat, his hair swinging behind him.  
Erestor noted with more than a little satisfaction that the Elda was wearing a pair of old boots that were somewhat shrunk and had cracked leather laces. Apparently his plan had worked. Well, of course it had. He didn’t pride himself on his skills for nothing. There was one problem, though, and that was the ill-tempered Glorfindel now moving toward him.  
Moving quickly but stealthily, Erestor moved behind the nearest table and placed it between himself and Glorfindel. He wasn’t one to back down from a fight, but it never hurt to be cautious.  
Glorfindel just kept stalking forward, his face an unreadable mask. He finally reached the table and leaned forward, dropping his hands palm-down onto the surface and grinning wildly. “You will never believe what I found in my shoes this morning, dear adviser!”  
Going to cut right to the point, was he? Erestor feigned nonchalance and blinked his dark lashes innocently. “Why, they were mildewing, weren’t they? What have I told you about keeping your boots clean?”  
Glorfindel barely refrained himself from rolling his eyes at the rejoinder. He had seen that coming a mile away. “No, as a matter of fact. Actually, I found something else quite interesting.”  
Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, Erestor waited.  
“It was . . .” Glorfindel let the air thicken with tension a moment longer, then let out a laugh. “It was the worst prank I’ve ever seen in my whole life!”  
That was most definitely not what Erestor had expected. His brown eyes blinked in confusion, and he frowned. “Pardon?”  
“My shoes? That’s all you’ve got? You couldn’t even – maybe . . .” By now, Glorfindel’s shoulders shook with mirth. “The twins could do better! You should take lessons from them!”  
Erestor scowled at the snickering Elda. “I’m glad you find it amusing.”  
“Oh, I do. Believe me, I do.” Letting out another burst of laughter, Glorfindel headed back for the door. He shot one more thing over his shoulder, “I’ll be waiting for a more effective trick. The water-bucket-over-the-door doesn’t work, though. I always check the door before I go in a room.” He vanished around the corner, still chortling.  
Erestor made sure the Balrog-slayer was completely gone, then let a small smile of triumph cross his face. So he hadn’t discovered the tree sap in his as-of-now empty scabbard yet?  
"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""  
Two hours later, Imladris rang with a furious yell. “ERESTOR! WHY IS MY SWORD STUCK IN MY SCABBARD?”  
And in his office, Erestor paused briefly at his work, grinned, and went back to his papers.

**Author's Note:**

> Next comes Glorfindel's Revenge!


End file.
